Intuit
by ClasseySpanks
Summary: The one where Molly deals with the aftermath of 'the phone call', goes on holiday in a tatty sweatshirt, and learns to ski. Can be read with "The Psychopath Whisperer" but not required
1. Chapter 1

Molly flipped over in her bed, eyes darting traitorously to her phone on her nightstand before she closed them tight in frustration. It was well into the wee hours of the morning and she scowled, punching her pillow and repositioning herself to try to get more comfortable. It was pointless.

She was hurt. She was sad. She was worried.

Everything about yesterday had been so peculiar and awful. The morning started with Toby not moving when she went to greet him, his sad and dull eyes barely registering her presence. She had called the vet, knowing it was time to end his suffering as his renal disease now allowed his blood to practically poison him. His euthanization had taken all afternoon as she sat with him, her fingers stroking through his coarse fur as he died.

Poor Toby. He had been a lovely companion to her in the end. She hadn't been so sure when she first brought him home all those years ago. He spat and clawed at her when she tried to be affectionate but over time he became accustomed to her presence and in his latter years he was always at her side. She had just returned from the veterinarian's office and was taking a moment to grieve when her phone rang.

 **SHERLOCK** it had announced and she just glared at it, not wanting to answer. She was certain that even through the phone he'd somehow deduce Toby's death and she was not up for his particular brand of practical comfort. She went to make tea, already hearing his words in her ear.

 _You are not a negligent pet owner. For renal failure to have caused his death, you must have known for a while. Surely you expected this. Is it not better that his suffering has ended?_

Besides, she was still smarting over the stunt he pulled to catch Culverton Smith. The ringing stopped and she felt chagrined at her thoughts. Perhaps that wasn't fair. Sherlock had become kinder over the years and nothing had been quite right since Mary died...

And that was really why she didn't want him to know how much Toby's death upset her. In the grand scheme of things, what was the life of a cat? What difference did it make that he was gone?

And then he had called again.

Molly flipped over once more in her bed and shoved a pillow over her face, closing her eyes tight against the memory of their conversation as if it could ward it off. Something bizarre had happened, but as to what and how it involved her, she couldn't guess. And now all she could do was wait.

The sudden rattling of her phone on the night stand had her sitting upright, reaching for it with no small amount of trepidation.

"GREG LESTRADE"

Her stomach twisted with dread as she hit the answer key.

"Greg?"

"Molly!" the DI's voice came over the phone in obvious relief, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. What's going on? I got a very strange phone call from Sherlock earlier and I couldn't tell if he was just being a complete tosser or if something was wrong."

Greg exhaled a short bark of laughter into the phone, "Hard to tell the difference sometimes, innit? Well, he and John have been through the ringer. They're alright but they said there was a threat made on your life earlier this evening so we're sending a team to make sure its safe."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "To make sure what is safe? What kind of team, Greg?"

She heard Greg sigh, "Your home, Molly. We're sending a bomb squad and Mycroft Holmes will have some of his men sweep for surveillance equipment once our team is out."

Molly didn't respond and instead just took a shuddering breath into the phone.

"Molly, don't panic. Sherlock doesn't think there are actually any explosives but we do know there are cameras in your kitchen. You need to grab just a few items for the night and get out. Do you have a place to stay?"

She barely heard the last question, the blood from her pounding heart rushing in her ears.

 _Cameras...in the kitchen..._

She wanted to vomit and ran her free hand through her hair.

"Molly? MOLLY?"

Greg's shout on the other end of the line brought her focus back.

"Yes, I'm here."

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"Uh, no... I mean yes, sort of, I can get a hotel."

"Alright. Just leave as soon as possible. Call me immediately if you see anything suspicious."

She nodded emphatically before she realized he couldn't see her.

"Right. Right. Will do. But, Greg?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes Molly?"

"Why? Why would someone do this?"

Greg's side of the line was quiet for a few beats and there was a rustle of movement as if he was struggling with the phone.

"I can't say for sure right now Mols, but... I'm sure everything will be explained in due time."

The line went dead and she stared at the black screen, her mind a riot.

So it had been a game, just not one of Sherlock's choosing. But who? And why? How could they have known?

 _Stupid Molly. That one is easy_ , she chided herself with a sniff. _Everyone knows you love him... even the great git himself now._

And someone planted cameras to watch her emotional evisceration...They may be watching still.

That thought had her throwing back her covers and she scrambled to get dressed, careful to expose as little of herself as possible before tossing a few clothes and underthings into a bag. She started toward her bathroom to pick up her toiletries but her skin crawled with the thought of staying in there one more minute and she darted out into the street, phone in hand.

She tried to take a step but felt anchored on the spot. She glanced down at her haphazardly packed bag, mismatched clothes, and turned in a slow circle.

 _It's 3am. I'm alone. My cat is dead. Sherlock can't even be bothered to explain what the bloody hell happened earlier. My privacy has been violated for God knows how long. I'm dressed like a hobo and I think I packed nothing but socks..._

A half laugh-half sob escaped her lips and she covered her mouth to repress it, choking on the heartache in her chest. She took slow deep breaths before looking at her phone once again and shot off a quick message to Mike Stamford.

 _Mike, terribly sorry to text you so late but there's been an emergency and I won't be into work this week. I'll be taking my paid time off. Sorry for the inconvenience._

She sent it and quickly changed contacts to type another message.

 _Ms. Hudson, I won't be around to help with Rosie this week. I'll take the next one._

She pressed send on her phone before turning it off and hailed a taxi.

"Heathrow Airport, Please."


	2. Chapter 2

Molly pulled her purse tighter into her lap, trying to cover her ridiculous "bad girls go to London" shirt she had bought at one of the kiosks at the airport to replace the tatty sweater she had thrown on in her haste to get out of her flat. It had been the only one even close to her size and she had reluctantly purchased it, wondering how many more dings her dignity would have to absorb before this whole mess was sorted. She flipped open her ticket voucher, a small twinge of excitement finally overtaking the persistent heaviness in her heart.

 **Geneva, Switzerland**

She would spend the first two days in Lausanne to build a more appropriate wardrobe before travelling to Zermatt. She had always wanted to see the mountains, breathe in the sharp, thin air of the high altitude. And after the claustrophobia of the past twelve hours, the thought of finally going made her feel lighter. She found she could even be gracious enough to mentally thank Sherlock...

 _She heard a clattering of objects in the kitchen and stuck her head around the corner to see Sherlock shaking her purse and all its contents out onto her counter top._

 _"Sherlock! What are you doing?" she asked bewildered as her lip balm and a tampon bounced onto the floor._

 _"Why is it not in here?" he asked through clenched teeth._

 _"Why is 'what' not in there?" She snatched the bag from him and started to place the items back in their designated areas._

 _"Your passport. I told you to always keep it with you."_

 _"You told me that three years ago after we faked your death. You meant for me to keep that up this whole time?"_

 _He rolled his eyes and stalked off to her bedroom before returning with the offending document._

 _"Here," he said tersely and shoved it under her nose before softening his demeanor. "Please."_

 _She took it from him and zipped it into the side pocket, glancing up to see his shoulders sag as if he was relieved._

She shook off the memory as her flight was called and she rose, self consciously pulling at the hem of her shirt.

The flight was uneventful except for the very nice older gentleman seated next to her that had quite the disdain for deodorant. She boarded the train to Lausanne and slid her cheap airport sunglasses on her face to get some rest on the forty minute trip, the events of the day and her emotional exhaustion finally catching up to her.

She dreamed all the time, something she was always surprised to find most of her adult counterparts did not. It had been a nuisance in medical school, her dreams just reciting the lessons of the day, her patients seen and then she'd wake feeling as if she had worked all night. And then when her father had died, it was a blessing and a curse to be able to revisit so many memories of him, to see his face and hear his voice once again. Her dreams resumed their frivolous and indulgent nature for a long time after that, moving into fantasy after meeting Sherlock.

She rolled her eyes under her lids at the thought. How silly she had been, dreaming of him professing his ever lasting love and carrying her bridal style over an alter... that was not who Sherlock was, nor, now that she actually knew him, was that what she wanted him to be. She thought of the moments, few and scattered, that felt like something real was developing between them. She kept them close to her heart and rarely examined them, finding the memories bittersweet in a way that was nearly unbearable.

His Christmas present.

The moment he asked for her to help kill him.

The day he invited her to solve cases.

The first time he had crawled into her bed, loudly scoffing at her shocked expression, _"Your sofa is far too short. I need the space."_

The last time he had crawled into her bed just after Mary died, and rested his head between her shoulder blades in an unspoken request for comfort.

"Oh Mary..." thought Molly and swallowed thickly against the lump in her throat. They hadn't known each other long but they had been close. She smiled sadly now, thinking of the moment that cemented their friendship.

 _"Mary! I wasn't expecting you. You should have told me you wanted to chat, I could have come to you!" exclaimed Molly, ushering the very pregnant Mary to her sofa to sit._

 _"No, no, no. I wasn't expecting to come here myself but..." she paused and bit her lip a little nervously, "Molly, there's something I need to talk to you about."_

 _Molly stopped her fussing when she really looked at Mary, her expression an eerie whisper of the one Sherlock wore when he told her he was going to die._

 _"What is it?" she asked and sat down next to her on the sofa._

 _"John and I want you to be a godmother to our baby."_

 _Molly sighed with relief, letting out a nervous laugh, "Of course, Mary, I'd be honored..." Her voiced trailed off at the distressed look on Mary's face._

 _"Molly," said Mary, taking her hand, "Before you agree to this, I need you to know the truth because there is a very real possibility that you will be called upon to raise my daughter one day. I know what you did for Sherlock and I know I can trust you with this. But I need you to know everything before you agree..."_

Molly took off her glasses and swiped at the tears in her eyes before they fell. She missed Mary and her death had been so difficult with both John and Sherlock needing to lean on her while she had no one to lean on herself.

 _Sod em_ , she heard Mary's voice say in her head. _Go have a drink. Flirt with a ski instructor. The lot of them can wait on you this time._

She looked through the window of the train and smiled at the mountains in the distance, already feeling the tightness in her chest release.


	3. Chapter 3

After an exquisite nap (which had been initiated by face planting into her hotel comforter), Molly unpacked her paltry amount of clothes and the toiletries she purchased at the airport drug store.

She made a face at herself in the mirror as she put back on her awful sweatshirt and plucked at its loose strings. Nothing could be done for it, it was her warmest outfit. It would have to do.

And so relying on the directions from the concierge, she found herself standing in front of a clothing boutique wringing her hands. With a fortifying breath, she pushed open the door and immediately went to the woman at the counter who blinked back at her in alarm.

"Sorry," said Molly in French, grateful for the year she had spent abroad in uni. "I know I look... well, like I look but I really need your help. You see, my cat died and someone tried to blow up my home and-" She paused seeing the panicked face of the shop girl. "Oh, I'm sure its all fine now, this sort of thing happens when you know Sherlock. I mean, his flat actually did explode just a few days ago and that's not even the first time that's happened... its a long story really, but here I am and I'm in desperate need of some non-horrible clothing."

The shop girl took a moment to swallow heavily before smiling to ask Molly her size.

Four hours later Molly was seated at a cafe overlooking the sunset on Lake Geneva, sipping tea in her now socially acceptable outfit. Her packages took up the other seats at her table and she grinned into her cup. The ladies at the shop had been so kind, making sure she had everything she needed and one had even recommended a beautiful set of cream colored pajamas that brought out the rose undertones in her skin. She prodded another one if her bags with her foot and it tipped slightly revealing her new ski pants and jacket. She sighed, thinking maybe it wasn't the smartest idea, attempting to learn how to ski at age thirty-four... Though it would be poetic for her to break her leg on holiday after escaping nearly getting blown up.

She took her phone from her bag and mulled over the risks and benefits before deciding to turn it on after her fourteen hours of radio silence.

 _Five missed calls, three voicemails, and three text messages_.

One text was from Mike saying it wasn't a problem and to let him know if she needed anything. Another was from telling her not to worry but that she should call just to let her know where she had gone. The other was from her neighbor wondering why the police were raiding her apartment at 4am.

Two of the phone calls were from Greg. The next two from John.

The last was Sherlock.

She worried her lip before activating the voicemails and placed her phone to her ear.

"Molly, its Greg. You didn't answer the first time but I wanted to let you know your place is secure and you can return tomorrow."

 _Deleted. Next message_.

"Molly, its John." There was a long pause. "We've just gotten back and Ms. Hudson showed us the text message and well..." another long pause. "I just want to you to know... it wasn't his fault, Molly. You know i would tell you if he was being a prat..." Long sigh. "Just come home soon, alright?"

 _Saved. Next message_.

Silence.

 _End messages_.

Molly pulled the phone away from her ear and clicked it off again before setting it gently on the tabletop. She traced the edges with her finger thinking of the phone call.

It seemed obvious now, all the pieces coming together. Someone made Sherlock do something that he knew would hurt her and they watched... but why? What could anyone derive from her suffering... why would someone want to make her say those words to the one person she knew she'd never hear them from?

Her eyes closed involuntarily against the memory of his words and she pressed her fingers to her temple.

 _I...love you._

 _I love you._

She had asked him to say it first and taunted him to say it like he meant it...she hadn't thought him capable of it. It had been a petty power move on her part but, like always with Sherlock, it was absolutely necessary to maintain the delicate balance she always found herself in with him. If they were playing with pounds of flesh, his was going on the table first.

But it had been for nothing... she had never been in any real danger. And now she could only wait for either one of two unsatisfactory conclusions with Sherlock. He would either pretend nothing had happened or an uncomfortable discussion about his lack of reciprocity was on the horizon.

 _But the second time...oh, the second time he said it... he had almost..._

She cleared her throat roughly and snatched her phone off the table before tossing it in her bag.

Sherlock loved, alright, no matter how he might pretend otherwise.

But he did not love her. Her wishful thinking hadn't changed that fact in seven years. Why should it now?


	4. Chapter 4

Molly stoked the fire in her small cabin, smiling as the flurries started to come down past the windows outside. Stretching her sore muscles, she was eternally grateful she had sprung for a room with jets in the bathtub. For what looked on the surface to just involve standing on wooden planks and letting gravity do the work, skiing was exhausting. And dear god, no one had told her about the lifts.

 _Molly gripped the cold metal tightly and looked below, immediately wishing she hadn't._

 _"Oh my God," she muttered, scrunching her eyes up._

 _"Are you ok?" a voice asked next to her. For the first time she looked at the unfortunate soul who had been in line with her to get on the lift and gasped. It was a boy no more than eight._

 _"They let you on this thing alone?" she screeched, eyes wide. Though she couldn't be sure through the goggles and the scarves, he seemed to raise an eyebrow, "Uh... yea."_

 _"And that's legal?"_

 _The kid shrugged and pointed at the pair ahead of them who appeared to be even younger than he was._

 _"This is madness."_

The kid had actually been quite nice and even helped show her the basics before heading down his own insanely difficult runs, leaving the greens to her. If there was only one good thing to come out of this trip, it was restoring her faith in humanity. For every psychopath out there, so far there seemed to be at least three of the decent sort. She grabbed a thick woolen blanket and wrapped it around her pajama-clad shoulders. Taking her mulled wine with her she moved to her balcony and dusted off the flurries on the lounge chair. The stars were easily visible despite the oncoming snow and she tilted her head up at the moonlight, deeply inhaling the crisp air. Flexing her fingers around her hot mug, she felt content; this was what she needed to feel centered and connected to the world again... away from ploys and intrigue, hurtful games and their creators.

She arrived in Zermatt yesterday and was lucky enough to find a small cabin on the outskirts of town but close enough to kip in for anything she needed. The view was breathtaking. She took a sip of her drink and rested her head back, burrowing deeper into the warmth of her blanket before closing her eyes. In truth, she actually rather enjoyed being alone. She had a rich internal life and was frequently exhausted by too much social interaction. She could do alone. Lonely was a bit trickier. But ever since she had been brought into their strange little dysfunctional family, the loneliness only happened in brief spurts anymore. Overall, she'd considered herself quite happy in her little life.

"Molly, you have seen what frostbite does to human appendages. I do not recommend you fall asleep outdoors in the middle of winter in Switzerland."

Her eyes snapped open but she didn't move, briefly wondering if she had just had a hypnagogic hallucination, but the sound of crushed ice shifting under boots had her turning around. Sherlock stood in the door open to her balcony, his dark belstaff wrapped around him and his skin looking otherworldly in the moonlight. His eyes watched her carefully.

"Hello Molly," he said gently.

She scrambled up from her lounge chair, tripping on her blanket in her haste. He moved forward, his hand outstretched to steady her but she held up a warning finger and he's stepped back.

"So how did you find me, Sherlock? Did you go to my flat and deduce it? Or figure out my email password to see which plane I boarded? Or did Mycroft look at my accounts?" she asked her voice cold with anger at the thought of him violating her privacy further. " _I_ didn't even know I was coming here until I was at the airport, so how did you know where to find me?"

His head moved in the slightest of shakes, "When we couldn't find you, I did go to your flat but you had obviously grabbed items without much coordination in mind. It didn't help me determine your whereabouts. Your message to Mike Stanford lead me to believe you had left the country. But as to how I _knew_ you were here, I didn't. It was a guess. A good one, but still a guess."

Molly rolled her eyes, "You don't guess-"

"You told me you wanted to come here one day," he interrupted and raised his hand, a beseeching look on his face that startled Molly into silence. "I had been on a case but John was occupied with Mary so I went to your place to work and you were watching that stupid movie that took place in the Swiss Alps and you told me you wanted to go. You specifically said you wanted to go to Zermatt because an old family friend had recommended it." He paused, his hand dropping to his side. "This is not a large town and it only took a few phone calls from there to find where you were."

"You said you delete all my prattle. You said that's why you didn't mind me going on and on, you were able to delete it."

His eyes had yet to leave hers. "I lied," he said simply.

Molly blinked rapidly in her confusion, "Why are you here, Sherlock?"

"I need to speak with you."

"About what?"

His face pinched in annoyance, "Don't be obtuse, you know about what."

"You could have just called."

His eyes narrowed, "Your phone is off."

"It could have waited til I got back."

"No."

He stepped aside and extended his hand back toward the living room. Molly breathed out heavily, debating on just continuing this right here on the balcony but her toes were freezing and Sherlock was right about frost bite.

 _Prat._

She marched passed him and dropped the blanket on the floor before throwing herself into the armchair by the fire. Sherlock followed and removed his coat, draping it carefully over a dining chair before sitting in the chair just opposite her. She looked him over and let out a soft laugh before looking back to the fire. Only Sherlock would wear a suit to a ski destination. She ran her hands self consciously through her long hair which was starting to wave as it dried.

 _Well,_ she thought, _at least I'm wearing my new pajamas and not the ratty sweatshirt. Small victories, I suppose._

"I have a sister."

Molly's hand froze in her hair and she straightened, her eyes going back to Sherlock.

"Her name is Eurus and she is a genius beyond even my comprehension. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had no recollection of her existence. She had been removed from our home when she was very young after a display of increasingly disturbing behavior and my brother thought it best to allow me to continue my delusion. Of course this became a moot point when Eurus sought me out. She devised a plan to entrap myself, John, and Mycroft into a series of..." -his fingers gripped the armrest of his chair- "trials."

"One of which was me."

Sherlock nodded, "The first was to test philosophical good against actual good, active evil verses passive evil. I don't draw much of a distinction between the two and Eurus knew it so I wasn't allowed to participate. So it was either John or Mycroft that had to kill a man to save his wife or they would both die."

Molly swallowed thickly against the horror rising in her chest, "And?"

A look of regret washed over Sherlock and his eyes cast downward. "They both died."

He sighed, "The second was to confront me with the consequences of my actions. How many times had I declared guilty parties without any thought or care as to what became of them. Eurus presented us with three brothers, only one of which was guilty with murder. She made us deduce the killer and condemn him to death by dropping him on the rocks below. Though we deduced correctly, Eurus killed all three of them anyway."

"But... why?"

"She felt the determination of one person's guilt or innocence pointless in the vast scheme of things and far beneath her concern."

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair. "I am telling you this Molly because I need you to know that based on everything that had happened up to that point, I had every reason to believe Eurus would kill you too, even if I played the game fairly." He waited for her acknowledgement before continuing, his eyes staying on the floor this time.

"The third room had your coffin in it. She said I had to make you say the words 'I love you' or she would have destroyed your flat and you along with it. I'm sorry I had to do that to you. I don't..." he paused, "I am unworthy of your friendship, let alone your love. I have been cruel, on many occasions, to you so I am not surprised you thought me capable of cruelty that day. I should have been better. You deserve better than that and better than me."

Molly bit her lip, willing the tears welling in her eyes to go back down. She hated that crying was always at the forefront of her emotional responses. Happy... cry. Stressed... cry... angry...cry.

"It's alright Sherlock. You did it to save my life. I can hardly fault you for that. Of course you would save me, you're a good man."

Sherlock straightened in his chair, his face becoming stormy as his head shook angrily. "Molly, there are things you don't know about me, things that if you knew, you would despise me for-"

She frowned and raised an eyebrow sarcastically, "Worse than the drugs or the complete lack of self preservation?"

He narrowed his eyes, "I've committed murde-"

"I already know about Magnussen."

Sherlock's face went slack and he blinked.

"Mary told me when she asked me to be Rosie's Godmother," continued Molly, her voice soft. "She said I should know what I'm committing to, the people I'm committing to before I said yes."

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked at his feet, "I'm sure whatever version Mary told you paints me in a good light but I assure you-"

"She said he was unarmed and you blew his head off."

The air seemed to leave Sherlock, his chest deflating as he just looked back at her, his face the picture of astonishment. Molly smiled to herself, almost in wonderment.

"And that was when I knew I could tell Mary that I would be there for Rosie no matter what... I knew because the first thought I had when she told me what you did wasn't, 'My god, how awful' or 'How could he?'... It was 'How sweet. He did it to protect them'. "

She stopped and looked back her her fingers where they pulled at the beading on the pillow in her lap. "I know what you did but...I've also seen you rock Rosie to sleep, how you care for Ms. Hudson and John. I saw what Mary's death did to you." She swallowed. "You only exist in the extremes: violence and kindness, cold indifference and pure devotion, reason and intuition." She flicked her eyes up to meet his. "I _know_ who you are, Sherlock, and you don't frighten me."

There was silence for the space of a few heartbeats when Sherlock let out a shaky sigh and Molly chanced a look up to see him run his fingers through his curls. His eyes seemed a bit wild, and his body was tense with some unnamed energy.

"You make me question my sanity sometimes," he stated, his voice so low she barely heard it over the crackling embers. He steepled his fingers under his chin. "If I was so wrong the first time deduced you, what else have I been wrong about?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "I mistook your eagerness for subservience, your cheerfulness for a lack of wits, your open acceptance of my false praise for gullibility, your interest in me to indicate a shallow nature, and your overall comportment as a complete lack of self awareness." He winced at the words as if they pained him. "And even after I learned that instead of those things you were kind, clever, determined, and without artifice, I excused away the affection I felt for you as immense gratitude for your loyalty." He rubbed his face in an agitated manner. "You've always been my blind spot. I've always gotten everything wrong about you... who you are, your grasp of the situation, the depths of your feelings, the nature of mine... Always, always..." his words trailed off.

Molly took in a sharp breath, not sure of what was happening or what he was trying to say. "All you feel for me is gratitude?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped back up to hers from over his fingertips.

"I lied."


	5. Chapter 5

Molly's heart raced and she felt that desperate little thing called hope start to claw its way free of the box she banished it to long ago.

"What was the point of the third trial?" she asked.

His mouth quirked up, "Like I said, clever." He sat back in his chair, hands going back to the armrest. "She wanted to show me the destructive power of sentiment, remind me of why I rejected it in the first place. To save you, I would have to crush your dignity under my heel and do so with the knowledge that it could be my last interaction ever with you. Caring about you would not save your life, it would only hinder my ability to achieve the objective." He shifted in his chair, his gaze going to the fireplace while his fingers played with the edges of his armrests. "But when faced with your death, I was forced to confront some long held misconceptions about myself. Eurus was counting on that, that I would realize the truth and conclude that it had brought only the pain you and I found ourselves in."

"And the misconceptions?"

His head turned to look at her and he was quiet for a moment, his eyes seeming to flick over her hair and facial features.

"That romantic love is folly and that I did not want you."

She ran his words over and over in her head, certain she had misheard, certain she had misunderstood.

He sighed, a rare self deprecating smile on his face. "You're not the only one who has trouble saying things that are true."

The silence seemed to stretch out forever with Molly just staring at him wide eyed and Sherlock's face slowly morphed into one of alarm.

"Molly, I know I use to discourage you from speaking but I would really appreciate it now if you would say something."

She blinked, her face screwing up into a look of confusion, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" he replied back, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Have you ever known me to flit about making declarations of love willy-nilly? Yes, I am sure."

"That you love me?"

"Yes."

"That you're _in_ love with me?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

He frowned at her continued silence, "This wasn't really the reaction I expected."

Molly's shoulder's started to shake, a great peel of laughter escaping as her eyes watered. She was half convinced she had cerebral edema from altitude sickness and this was all the insane last gasps of her dying brain. Sherlock's frown just set deeper.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, its just a stress reaction," she said, swiping at her eyes as her laughter died down. He stood and quickly strode over to her, dropping down so that they were on eye level. She jumped, surprised at the sudden nearness of him.

"I cannot guarantee entering into a relationship with me would be traditional or pleasant and I understand if you have no desire to do so. " He paused, looking uncomfortable again. "My affection is not created lightly and your importance to me will not be diminished if you decline my offer. I would still wish to work with you and see you with Rosie and John. But I, for one, would like to try."

She let out a shaky breath, finding it difficult to hold his gaze. "Me too," she said just above a whisper. He smiled, relief washing over his features like sunlight on a newly crested horizon.

"Good," he said, "That's good."

He rose and shifted as if unsure of what to do next and despite the excitement of the moment, Molly found herself unable to suppress a yawn.

"I'm sorry, I have kept you up far too late. I should go and let you rest."

Molly looked out the window at the now heavily falling snow before she too stood.

"You can't go out in that. Wait here, there were extra blankets in the linen closet. You can kip on the sofa, it is pretty comfortable."

He raised an eyebrow as she stepped passed him toward the hall.

"The sofa?" he asked.

She stopped and half-turned, "It's probably best to start with you back on the sofa, Sherlock."

Her heart leapt at the almost-shy smile he returned, "Yes, you're probably right."

She opened the linen closet and internally cursed at the extra pillows that had been tucked on the highest shelf. She rolled up on her toes and braced her hand on the frame to reach, her pajama top sliding upward with her precarious stretch. A warm hand suddenly rested at the curve of her waist over her bare skin, as potent as electricity, and she felt the warmth of his presence at her back as he reached over her, easily pulling down the desired items. She turned and with such little space between them her lifted hands hovered over his chest, her fingertips brushing the crisp white of his shirt. He must have removed his jacket at some point as she traversed the hall. She stared forward, nervously waiting for him to step back, her eyes slowing tracking upward as he did not. She was rarely this close to him with the exception of a few times he had hogged her bed and she had woken with a heavy arm draped across her face. She often forgot how large of a man he was, his lithe movements and the proportion of his build suggesting that he was wiry. But this close, with one had sliding around her waist and the other resting somewhere behind her head, he was broad and practically surrounded her.

Her gazed passed over the hallow of his throat and Adam's apple before meeting his eyes. They were soft and kind but so dilated only the rim of the celestial blue green was visible. They shuttered closed as he leaned down, his lips pressing to hers with firm but gentle pressure. She vaguely realized her palms had splayed out over the hard lines of his chest and his hand under her shirt now pressed her to him but she was distracted by the molten heat traveling down her body. The hand at her back spasmed against her skin and she heard the soft 'whump' of a pillow hitting the floor before his fingers threaded into her hair to deepen the kiss. A far away corner of her mind congratulated herself on being absolutely fucking right about what kissing Sherlock Holmes would feel like. After a few more moments, he pulled away, his fingers sliding from her hair. She glanced down to see that her hands had fisted in his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.

"Oh sorry!" she exclaimed and tried to smooth them out. He reached up, covering her hands with his to still their movements, a small smile she'd almost describe as fond playing on his lips.

He leaned down again, this time pressing a kiss to her cheek

"Good night, Molly Hooper," he said, and after grabbing his pillow, returned down the hall to the sofa.

Molly took a few steadying breaths before walking as calmly she could manage to the bedroom. She quietly closed the door behind her before running to throw herself on the bed with glee.

Whomever this Eurus person was, for all her genius, had been wrong. Love might be painful, even terrible at times but nothing could rival its joy and beauty. And for that it would always be worth the wait.

 _Fin._


End file.
